


Safe Search

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 19:56:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5979274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke's new neighbor decides to make friends by stealing her wifi. She makes friends back by stalking his browser history. It is not a good plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe Search

It is genuinely an accident the first time.

Well, okay, scratch that. It depends on how far she goes back, and the definition of _accident_.

It isn't really anything to start with. How it starts is that three days after she moves into her new apartment, someone knocks on her door and greets her with, "Uh, hi, so, this is awkward."

"It wasn't until you said that," she says, amused. All she's really done since she got the apartment is unpack and sleep, so she hasn't met any of the neighbors, but she assumes he's one of them. He's not dressed in a uniform or a suit or anything, just wearing a gray tanktop and a pair of too-long flannel pajama pants, and it's really too late for deliveries or outside business. He has messy black hair and glasses, black ink on both arms, not a _lot_ , just a few words and images she can't really examine in detail, but wants to. If he's a neighbor, she thinks she's going to like this building. "Now you made it weird."

"My specialty," he says, with a wry smile. "Uh, so--you're the new wifi that showed up, right? _Slythergriff_?"

Clarke does not flush; she likes giving her shit silly names. She's not ashamed. "Did you come over at nine o'clock at night to make fun of me about my wifi name? Because that _is_ awkward."

"Uh, no, I--" He huffs a laugh. "I'm trying to submit a paper and my net crapped out and I was hoping I could steal yours so I can get it sent off before midnight. Which I know is weird to ask someone I've literally never met--"

Clarke leans against the door frame, considering him. "Honestly, my number-one question is why me, yeah. Have you borrowed everyone else's wifi and they won't let you do it anymore? I'm not sure I should trust you."

He laughs, which does some great things for his face. And his face doesn't really need the help. "Yeah, uh, Mrs. Doyle lives next door to me, she doesn't have the internet. I had to fix her computer once and tried to hook it up for her and she told me if she wanted pictures of strange men's penises, she would buy pornographic magazines like God intended."

Clarke chokes on a laugh. "Really?"

"I could not make that up. And then there's Bolin, he doesn't use wifi because it's not fast enough, he does ethernet for maximum League of Legends supremacy. So I figured I'd try you before I went upstairs to beg off the people I don't know."

"I can't tell if you're friendly or your wifi is just so shitty that this has happened a lot and you've therefore met everyone."

"Definitely the second one. I'm a hermit. But I used to steal wifi from the person who moved out of here, because they didn't have a password, and now they're gone, so--here I am."

"Have you thought about just getting better wifi? How does everyone have functional internet but you?"

"Honestly, my going theory is some kind of ancient curse. I used to dig a lot when I was a kid? I could have disturbed some sort of burial ground." He rubs the back of his neck. "It only happens, like, once a week, I swear. I won't illegally download anything. I'm in grad school and I have a lot of papers to submit electronically and I'm broke."

Clarke considers him. "Name?"

"Bellamy Blake."

She offers her hand. "Clarke Griffin. Password is Dumbled0nt. Capital D, and the o is a zero."

He grins. "Thank you. I will, uh--I work at the Starbucks in Central, if you come in while I'm there I'll give you a free drink of your choice. In exchange for your wifi."

"No problem. Good luck with the paper," she says.

"Thanks. Really."

And that's the first time she meets him. It's not an accident, it's not _anything_. It's just a random encounter between two people. It wouldn't even qualify as a meet-cute.

But then she has a shitty day at work, and she's in Central anyway, so she finds the Starbucks, looks inside, and sees that Bellamy is there, chatting to another barista, and she figures she might as well see if she really _can_ get a free drink. She needs something to go well for her today.

He looks a little different than the last time she saw him, his hair a little tidier, no longer wearing glasses. And his polo doesn't show off his excellent upper body as much as his tank top did. But, still. He's an attractive guy, and he smiles when he sees her.

"Hey, Clarke, right?"

"Hey. I remember someone making promises about free drinks."

"I do that a lot, yeah," he says. "I don't have any money or any marketable skills, so this is all I can offer in terms of favors. What did you want?"

"Grande caramel latte? I had a bad day, I need sugar and caffeine."

"Sure," he says, grabbing a cup and starting the order. "Do you want to talk to a random stranger about it?"

"I think you no longer count as a _random_ stranger. I do know your name." She leans on the counter as he makes the drink. "So, as you know, I just moved here."

"Yeah."

"And it's an amazing job opportunity. Really. I'm so lucky. But--I've never really been alone before. And that was kind of exciting, you know? Like--off on my own. No safety net. Away from my parents. Away from my friends."

"No, that sounds awful," he says, flashing her a smile. "I like having friends."

The other barista snorts. "You have like three friends."

"And I like having them."

"Actually, two friends. Your sister doesn't count."

"Don't you have something to clean?" He turns his attention back to Clarke. "Anyway, sure. I get that's a thing. Independence. Whatever. What happened?"

"The job's just--it's harder than I expected, and more draining, and the learning curve is higher than I thought it would be. And I screwed something up about it and my boss was really understanding about it, and it sounds awful, but that made it worse? Like, god, how fucking ungrateful. I had a shitty day and my boss didn't make me feel worse about it."

"Impostor syndrome," says Bellamy, handing over her latte. "It's a thing. You've always done stuff right, just because you're smart and capable and think it's easy for everyone. So as soon as you screw up, you think everyone's going to realize you're a fraud and call you out on it. You've been there for less than a week. You're not supposed to know everything yet." He taps the counter. "And, seriously, do you know how bad the job market is right now? There's no way they would have hired you if they didn't think you were the right person for the job. You probably beat a bunch of people out, and it's probably because you deserved it."

Clarke smiles into her drink. "You're pretty inspirational."

"He likes rousing speeches," says the other barista.

"Shut up, Miller."

She can't help smiling at that, too. They're cute. "It's just tough, not having friends who are around to vent at. My best friend is in Japan, so--it's hard to really get real-time comfort."

"Fair enough." He considers her. "Your neighbor's pretty cool."

"Mrs. Doyle, right? I hear she knows where the good penises are at."

The other barista, Miller, chokes, and Bellamy grins. "Exactly. I'm sure Mrs. Doyle would let you complain any time you wanted to."

She doesn't really think anything of his offer--not because she dislikes him, just because it feels like it's not a _real_ offer. He was being friendly because they were chatting; he probably doesn't want to actually _be friends_.

On Friday, there's a knock at her door, and he's back, in his pajamas, wearing his glasses. This time he has his laptop.

"I didn't change my wifi password."

"I know," he says. "Can I work on my paper on your couch?"

And then it's just a thing. Clarke learns his schedule at Starbucks, and she goes in after work every few days to gush or vent, as events require. He comes over on Fridays to work on his papers, which she realizes is actually really weird after about a month.

"Why are you always working on Fridays?" she asks him.

"Huh?"

"I mean, it's _Friday_. Don't you and your two friends have better shit to do?"

"Does this mean you're ready to go out and meet new people?" he asks, like he's been waiting for this, and then they start going to the bar where his ex-girlfriend works on Fridays, hanging out with Miller and Bellamy's sister and his other friend, Raven, who is dating his bartender ex-girlfriend.

It's weird.

"He just likes adopting people," Raven tells her. "You get used to it."

He doesn't stop coming to work on papers, either, just switches to Tuesday nights, shows up to sprawl on her couch in his pajamas, gnawing on his pen and eating all her food.

Which is when the accident happens.

He's in the bathroom and she wants to show him a video she saw, and since his laptop is open and hers isn't, she goes to pull it up in his browser, which drops down websites he's previously visited, and she doesn't _mean_ to see the porn sites. It's an accident. And it's not like--

Well, it's not like she would have said, if someone asked, that Bellamy _didn't_ watch porn. She sort of assumes most people do, from time to time. She does. But it's one thing to think that Bellamy watches porn--which she hadn't even consciously thought before--and another to see the porn in his history, like--was he watching it recently? Last night? What was he watching? Does he ever start watching something and his net goes out and he has to switch to hers to finish? Why does she want that to happen? Why would it be hot?

She hears the toilet flush, and she realizes she's just staring at Bellamy's computer, thinking very hard about his porn habits, and that's just--not okay.

She gets the video she was looking for up, and she tries to be normal as he sits back down next to her.

"What we we watching?" he asks, oblivious, and she tries not to let her eyes catch on the tattoo on his forearm, the stark black ink, the way his muscles flex under it.

It's an accident, and if she could go back, she would never do it. Because now she _knows_ she has a thing for him, and that's just bad. He's basically her only friend here, and she's imprinted on him, like a baby duck.

Only, well. With sex.

So she tries to ignore it. She signs up for Tinder and tries to get some dates, which doesn't work, because she hates dating, and tries to remind herself that friendship is important, and good, and she likes Bellamy. As a friend.

But he keeps leaving his laptop out on her coffee table while he does other things, and Clarke keeps knowing that she could access his search history and--porn.

There is something wrong with her.

So that's when the _non_ -accident happens.

He's over for his usual Tuesday hangout and gets a call from his mom. He has a complicated relationship with his mom--way worse than hers with her mom--so he takes the call in his apartment, and Clarke is--

Clarke is a terrible person, because she goes onto his laptop, checks the history, and pulls up what seems to be the last porn site he visited. There's a search bar at the top, but when she clicks in, no suggestions come in, so maybe he just browses the categories? Which is so unhelpful, honestly.

But what was she expecting, really? A search for _dark-haired guy eating out blonde girl_? Even she hasn't searched that, and she thinks about it a lot.

Still, she's already crossed a friendship line, so she clicks back into the navigation bar, to see if remembers anything, and, yeah, there it is. A list of suggestions of videos he's watched.

She's absolutely going to hell. Like, immediately.

She still checks the first one.

It's a solo video, a pretty blonde girl on a bed in a t-shirt and cotton panties, cupping her breast through her shirt. She's cute more than hot, and she's smiling. Clarke knows enough about the porn industry to know that there's no guarantee the girl is getting any actual enjoyment out of this, or that she's not being exploited, but--as videos go, it's at least trying to look like it's about the girl having fun.

She's not that into blondes, but--thinking about Bellamy watching this is definitely doing it for her.

The girl in the video gets a dildo, starts licking it, which Clarke isn't particularly into either, except that she either genuinely _likes_ sucking the thing or she's a great actress, because she gets kind of carried away with it, and she's making all these _noises_. Clarke loves the noises girls make when they're having a good time.

She shifts a little, trying to ignore the heat between her legs. She should close it. She really should. But--it's kind of a good video. And it's apparently Bellamy's kind of video.

On the screen, the girl starts rubbing the dildo between her legs, through her underwear, and that's when Bellamy knocks on the door. She actually jumps, nearly slams the laptop shut, but that won't help. Instead, she closes the tab, takes a few deep breaths, and goes over to let him back in.

"Everything okay?" she asks. She thinks she sounds normal.

He shrugs one shoulder. "As it ever is. She wants money. I told her I didn't have any."

"Sorry."

"Nah, it's fine," he says, settling back in on the couch. "If I had money it would be awkward because I'd actually have to make a decision about if I wanted to help her out, but as it is, it's not like I could do anything anyway. So I can just tell her the truth."

"Wow, you're right, that makes me feel so much better about your shitty childhood."

He flashes her a grin. "I try."

She's mostly feeling settled and, okay, _slightly_ guilty and still a little turned on, when Bellamy's laptop suddenly starts moaning, and she freezes.

Bellamy's frozen too, when she finally manages to look over at him, his fingers hovering over the trackpad as he stares at the screen. She opens her mouth to speak, without much of a plan, but he recovers first, and she watches his fingers move again. On the laptop, she sees the option bar pop up, and he hits _Reopen closed tab_. The moaning goes on, but the video is replaced by a JSTOR article he must have closed before he was done with it.

Life is abruptly terrible.

Bellamy switches back to the video and sort of stares at it for a moment, and then looks to her, eyebrows raised.

Her cheeks are _on fire_. "I was just--"

"Watching porn," he says, mild. "On my laptop."

"It was doing, um. Autocomplete."

"Uh huh."

She buries her face in her hands. "Fuck. I knew that was a bad idea."

"It was an idea?" he asks. He's _still_ amused. He's an asshole, but she deserves it. "Were you actually snooping for porn on my laptop?"

"Fuck."

"You could have just asked me, you know."

She raises her head enough to give him a glare. "Asked you what?"

"I don't know. Whatever you were trying to find out by watching my porn."

"It could have been a mistake."

"Oh, yeah, definitely," he says. "I sort of figured it was, except your poker face is shitty."

"Not _always_." Clarke's usually an excellent liar. But she was really not prepared for this. "It was seriously an accident." She wets her lips. "A few weeks ago."

He frowns. "Yeah, uh, that made nothing clearer."

"I was--" She starts, but a loud moan snaps both their attentions back to the laptop. The girl has shoved her underwear out of the way to slide her toy in, and Clarke feels a throb between her legs. It's even worse with him right by her, warm and solid and, god, so hot. "Can you close this?" she asks, voice strained.

He glances at her, and she wills herself to look--she doesn't even know. She's not sure what her best-case scenario for this encounter is. 

"I like this part," he says, careful. His tongue darts out to wet his lips. "She's about to take her shirt off." He looks at her, eyes dark. "Like I said, you could have just asked."

Clarke has watched porn with people platonically before, which is maybe weird. But she and her college friends had found some vintage porn, too ridiculous to be hot, and watched it, hooting with laughter the whole time. It had been fun. A bonding experience.

This doesn't feel like that. This feels like the time her friend said _I think I might be into girls, but I don't know how to tell_ and they ended up fucking on Clarke's bed.

She shifts a little closer. "Okay, so, what are you into?"

"Recently? Hot blondes with good wifi connections."

It's weird, feeling warm and fuzzy while she's so turned on. But she keeps her voice steady. "So, cam girls?" she teases, and he catches her jaw with his fingers, tilts her mouth up to kiss her.

The kiss is unexpectedly soft too, sweet, given the circumstances. It's a kiss that says _I like you_ more than _this is hot_ , and Clarke melts into it.

Then the laptop moans again, startling them apart, and Bellamy grins.

"I can turn it off," he offers.

"Or we could watch it together. While you tell me what you're into."

She can see him swallow, and then he pulls her into his lap, spreading his legs so she can settle between them. His dick hardens against her ass as she wiggles, getting comfortable, and he leans in to kiss her neck.

"I like you a lot, for the record," he says. "I'm looking for a girlfriend, not a porn buddy."

"Can I be both?"

She feels his grin against her neck, and then the light scrape of his teeth. "Even better."

He gets her off with his hands while they watch his video, murmurs filthy things into her skin about how good he bets she looks when she's fucking herself, how he can't wait to see it, and then she logs into her favorite porn site while he makes fun of her for actually _paying_ for pornography.

"Some of us did our research on ethical treatment of sex workers," she says, and he kisses her shoulder. "I'm being an informed consumer."

"So, can I steal your wifi _and_ your porn site access?" It makes her shiver, and they're pressed together, so of course he notices. "What?"

"Is it weird that I thought you watching porn on my wifi was hot? Like--maybe it went out in the middle of a video and you had to switch to my connection and--you'd be thinking about me while you finished."

"A little weird," he admits. "But mostly pointless." He kisses her, deep and long. "I was already thinking about you."


End file.
